


Blooms

by Scout924



Series: Stucky Ficlets [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Flowers, Fluff, I hope you brought your toothbrush, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Smut, Snarky Bucky, Stealing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tulips, graveyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scout924/pseuds/Scout924
Summary: Steve looks around, bewildered, as the dark-haired man pushes him down the small dirt road. His boots thunk heavily on the dry, packed ground. “I-I don’t have girl, sir. I don’t have a date.”His captor snorts. “Don’t try it, pal. Ain’t no way a man goes to that much effort to steal good flowers every week if he ain’t tryin’ to impress a girl.”In which Steve gets caught stealing flowers from Bucky's garden and realizes being a criminal may not be so bad after all.





	Blooms

**Author's Note:**

> Found this AU inspiration on Tumblr as "Awful AU #196"  
> "Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you've caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the 'girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft' and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard."  
> So of course I used it to avoid working on a story. 
> 
> Cpt Awkward, I bow at your feet. Thank you for being the best beta!

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

Steve freezes. His bony fingers are wrapped around the thick stems of tulips today. They’re pink, like they’ve been dipped in paint, and Steve knows he was stretching his luck coming here twice in one week.

 

But today is her birthday and tulips had always been her favorite. So he swallows down his fear and straightens, leaving the beautiful flowers snug in the dirt where he found them.

 

He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder at the owner of the garden, the dark-haired man that’s now looming over him. Steve has seen him several times before, mainly on days he’s snuck into the garden knowing that the man is home.

 

Steve takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir. I had no business in your yard.”

 

The man grunts. “Sure as hell didn’t. I gotta question for you though.” He crosses his arms, thick and bulging with muscle, across his chest and slowly walks to face Steve, who ducks his chin to avoid the man’s gaze.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Is she that pretty?”

 

Steve’s head jerks up then, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

 

“The lucky lady. Your girl. She’s a stunner, right?” The man’s eyes have a dangerous, playful glint.

 

Steve opens his mouth, not sure how to respond.

 

“She must be, judging by how many times you’ve stopped by to steal flowers for her.”

 

Steve’s cheeks flame, and he drops his eyes again. He was so sure he hadn’t been seen. He’d been so careful, crawling under the fence at mid-afternoon when he could hide in the shadow of the large magnolia tree in the corner of the lot.

 

“You know what, I gotta meet her. I wanna see the fruits of my labor.” Steve’s throat clenches as the large man stoops, pulls the soft pink tulips straight out of the ground, and then straightens to reach for Steve before he can blink. The man catches his elbow and tugs him along. Steve flinches, expecting the man to twist his arm in his grasp, but the man’s fingers are surprisingly gentle as they curl around his arm. He jostles Steve forward nonetheless, the tulips bouncing along with his heavy steps.

 

He pushes the flowers into Steve’s hands, a small, amused smirk on his face. “Hope it’s not too far to her house, I didn’t eat lunch. What about you, kid? You meeting your girl for a picnic?”

 

Steve looks around, bewildered, as the dark-haired man pushes him down the dirt road. His boots _thunk_ heavily on the dry, packed ground. “I-I don’t have girl, sir. I don’t have a date.”

 

His captor snorts. “Don’t try it, pal. Ain’t no way a man goes to that much effort to steal good flowers every week if he ain’t tryin’ to impress a girl.”

 

“But I---”

 

“You know I plant those flowers with my bare hands? Started the daisies you snatched last week from seeds.” His voice is low and rumbling, and Steve feels like they're sharing a dark secret, one that shakes him clear to his soul. Guilt flames the back of his neck hotter than the summer sun that beats down on them. Steve stumbles on a rock, and the man practically lifts him back on two feet with a flick of his wrist.

 

Steve keeps his head ducked, eyes glued to his feet. They carry on down the road in silence for a few beats, and Steve can’t help but ask the question. “W-why are you coming with me?”

 

“Well, it’s obvious, ain’t it?” The man barks out. “Gotta see what kinda girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft.”

 

Steve risks a glance at the man half-dragging him down the path. Steve barely comes to his shoulder, and the man is built like an ox: his shoulders are wide and square, leading the way as he trudges forward. His chest and legs are just as thick, and Steve can see the ropes of muscle bulging beneath his simple work shirt and pants. Steve licks his lips. A bead of sweat escapes his hairline and races over his eyebrow, dripping down his cheek.

 

The man shakes a long lock of his dark hair out of his face, and it skims his shoulders.

 

“The name’s Bucky, by the way. Bucky Barnes. Figured you should know when you introduce me to the lucky lady.” Steve is still watching him move out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment, he meets Bucky’s sharp blue eyes.

 

It’s sweltering outside, but meeting Bucky’s gaze sends a jolt of electricity through Steve’s frail body like he’s fallen through a frozen pond. He jerks his eyes away, and notices the faded white split-rail fence coming up in the distance.

 

“We’re, uh...we’re almost here.”

 

Bucky’s steps falter, and he slowly uncurls his fingers from the crook of Steve’s elbow, dropping his large hand. Steve’s skin tingles at the spot.

 

The two men look ahead to see the graveyard sloping over the hill, disappearing in the distance.

Bucky says nothing, just stares ahead at the sea of white stones.

 

In a strange burst of bravery, Steve reaches out a hand, wrapping his thin fingers around Bucky’s sturdy wrist. As much as he wanted to get away from this man along the walk here, he can’t help but feel they need to finish the journey.

 

“Look, I’m real sorry about your flowers. She’d be mad if she knew what I was doing to get ‘em--my Ma, I mean. But it just looks so gloomy up here without some color and...she really liked flowers,” Steve finishes softly. Bucky just follows him, silent as they walk amongst the headstones. Steve notices that Bucky is careful where he steps, being respectful of the graves they pass.

 

When they reach Sarah Rogers’s grave, Bucky hangs back as Steve kneels at the small marker. He picks at some of the grass that has started to encroach around the edges of the stone, brushing it away with both hands. The marker tells them the woman has been dead just over six months, and she would have been forty-two today.  

 

Steve gently arranges the bundle of tulips to lie at the top of the grave, and he collects the old bundle of Gerber daisies that he stole last week, just as Bucky said. Their tender, white petals have dried up, shriveling in the stifling heat; the yellow hearts beginning to turn brown. The stems feel brittle in his hands as he draws them to his chest.

 

“She was pretty,” Steve starts, his voice wavering against his will. “She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

 

Suddenly, Bucky is behind him, a hand on the small of his back. Steve chances a look, giving him a watery smile, and finds concern in Bucky’s wide blue eyes, looking at Steve likes he’s a dam soon to burst.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry.”

 

Steve can’t tell if it’s because of the death of his mother or that he interjected himself into Steve’s day, but Steve finds he doesn’t mind. The man’s large hand feels warm on his back; it soothes his shaking. It feels good to come here with another person after weeks and weeks of making the trip alone.

 

The sun beats down on his neck, but Steve finds himself leaning into this stranger. Unbidden, he lets his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder. His fingers twist and untwist around the stems of the dead daisies.

 

Steve feels like he should say something: tell the man about his mother, about how she got sick and died so fast it took his breath away. How it was cruel and ironic because he was the sickly child and he had just gotten well. Left his sick bed warm for her to crawl into.

 

But he’s so tired, he finds that he doesn’t even have a scrap of energy to form the words. Drawing the memories out from where he so tightly packs them away seems daunting, like if he tells one story, his entire facade will coming crumbling down around him.

 

It’s not that he enjoys stealing. Each week, lurking around in the shadows drowns him in fear and guilt. But his mother worked three jobs to keep him alive and fed, so the least he can do is color her grave with his gratitude, even if he can’t make it himself. He feels like he should justify his actions to Bucky, but the words stick in his throat.

 

So they sit in silence, Steve and the man, until Steve feels exhaustion force his eyes close. The air is a thick blanket covering them, the sun chased away by dark summer storm clouds. Steve can smell the coming rain all around them; he finds the sweet, earthy scent comforting. His body feels heavy, even his fingers begin to lose their grip on the daisy stems, and he droops against the tall man sitting beside him. The last thing he remembers before sleep steals him is the gentle thump of the stranger’s heartbeat, steady in his ears.

 

* * *

 

 When Steve opens his eyes again, the muted sun is gone. He pokes his head out from beneath something heavy and warm, looking around. He’s inside a home, curtains pulled over the windows to make the room dark. He hears the patter of rain above him, drumming on what sounds like a tin roof. His hands push away a soft patchwork quilt that he has been wrapped in, and he takes in his surroundings with great care, curiosity forcing out his fear.

 

“Welcome back.”

 

Steve follows the gruff voice to a small kitchen, where Bucky is leaning against a wooden counter. The man pours hot water into a chipped mug and crosses the room to the couch where Steve sits. Steve rubs one eye blearily and takes the steaming cup.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“My house. You passed out on me, and since I wasn’t keen on leaving you in the rain, I carried you back here.” His brow is furrowed as he looks down at Steve, who is gathered in the thick quilt and huddled in on himself.

 

Steve realizes he’s not alarmed to find himself here, despite the fact that he has known the man in front of him for less than five minutes. He feels safe, for some reason. Like he’s known Bucky all his life and often wakes up on this man’s couch. He rubs the back of his neck and tries to remember what happened before he’d fallen asleep at the cemetery.

 

Steve stirs, pushing himself up as he makes to get off the couch. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to go to any trouble. I’ll just---”

 

“Didn’t say it was trouble,” Bucky says quietly, blue eyes still studying Steve. He puts a hand out, gently pushing Steve back down to the couch. His large fingers can wrap completely around Steve’s forearm. “Sit. You’re not going anywhere. Drink that, before it gets cold.”

 

Steve complies, sipping the dark liquid. It’s sweet and heady, a floral scent rushing over him. Bucky’s words are gentle as he comes around the side of the couch to sit, his thigh almost brushing Steve’s feet through the blanket. Steve doesn’t know if he should move away from the inadvertent touch, but he doesn’t want to.

 

“Do you make a habit of that?” Bucky’s voice rumbles like the thunder that surrounds them from the storm outside.

 

“What, passing out on strangers?” Steve smirks around the mug. “Yeah, it’s my favorite pastime.”

 

Bucky doesn’t laugh, his expression still serious. Steve realizes he’s waiting for a real answer.

 

“I get sick all the time. My asthma keeps me up at night, so I don’t get much sleep. I just got over a bad case of bronchitis, so I’ve been really tired lately. So yeah, sometimes I just pass out.” He shrugs, feeling the heat creep over his cheeks. He knows Bucky can see the blush that colors them.

 

Bucky balks, his eyebrows knitting together. “Well you need to get home when you start feeling that way. You can’t just pass out in the cemetery. Hell, laying in the rain’ll do wonders for your lungs I’m sure.” Steve just blinks as Bucky’s voice picks up from a low rasp to a more normal tone. “God knows who could’ve come and robbed you blind, or snatched you up!”

 

“You mean like the man I’ve been stealing from for the past month?” Steve sucks in his lips to hold back a sneer. Bucky merely tosses his chin in return.

 

“You’re lucky I caught your skinny ass when I did and went with you. You’d have been half drowned in the mud by now. Besides, don’t you have someone to go with you?”

 

“Go with me?” Steve really let the sneer fly, cradling the mug in his lap. “How old do you think I am? I’m not a child. Besides, my pickings are a little slim these days for company.” He dropped his gaze when Bucky’s eyes softened.

 

“So you’re telling me you live alone and you can’t even keep yourself awake? Jesus, you're gonna burn your house down, Steve.”

 

“I’m not an invalid!” He thrusts the words out, though they sound petulant to his own ears. “I can take care of myself. I’m twenty-four years old. I make do. Besides,” He juts out his chin. “I don’t see anybody around taking care of you.”

 

Bucky grunts. “Only two years younger than me. I wouldn’t’ve believed it. And I don’t see anybody lining up to look out for me either, so I manage just fine on my own. Least I can stay awake long enough to get home.” He crosses his arms and holds Steve’s gaze. He’s so broad, he looks bunched in the corner of the sofa, even though Steve is clear on the other side.

 

Steve sniffs, but goes back to the tea, warm in his hands. He’s reached the bottom of the mug, swirling the dark grains in the remaining liquid. “So,” he starts, breaking the silence that’s settled over them. “You keeping me captive here for stealing your flowers?” He feels Bucky’s eyes on him again, but he can’t meet them. The words spill from his lips. “Or have you got some kind of punishment for me since you know I can’t pay you back?”

 

His eyes inch over the edge of the mug and crawl over the folds of the quilt, making their way up Bucky’s black t-shirt and over his crossed arms to eventually meet his striking gaze, unwavering this entire time.

 

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and guilt clenches in Steve’s gut. For all he knows, this man could call up the police and deposit him into their hands. If he gets into trouble with the law, his landlord is sure to put him out; he hasn’t made rent in months. He closes his eyes in shame. How stupid was he, risking all this for some damn flowers that his mother isn’t even here to see?

 

“M’not holding you hostage, but I’m not letting you go home in this storm.” Bucky places a hand on the lump near his leg, and Steve feels the man lightly grasp his ankle. “And as for punishment, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

 

Steve swallows, the air suddenly thick around them. “Oh yeah? Well what if I leave anyway? I’m faster than I look.”

 

Bucky leans forward then, his arms coming to rest on either side of Steve’s hips with ease. “You’re not going anywhere, Steve.” Clouds have rolled in behind his eyes, the bright blue churning with grey. “You stole from me, so you’re gonna stay right here on this couch, and you’re gonna eat what I give you. And when I think you’re well enough and rested enough to go, I might let you go home.”

 

He runs a weathered thumb across Steve’s cheek with such gentleness it makes Steve’s breath clench in his chest. “Geez, kid. Circles under your eyes look like bruises. When was the last time you slept?” The words fade into a whisper.

 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. Here on the couch, just now. But before then?” He shakes his head softly, watching Bucky with baited breath. He’s so close now that Steve can see how handsome he really is, despite the dimness if the room. His dark hair feels like a curtain, keeping their secrets hidden in the closing space between them. His lips are full, the color of a ripe plum, and Steve aches to fit his thumb in the dimple in Bucky’s chin, roughened with stubble.

 

“You really shouldn’t be looking after me when I’ve been stealing from you for the past month.”

 

“Letting me take care of you sounds like plenty of punishment in your book.” Bucky’s lips curve into a hint of a smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve finds himself doing the same.

 

“Seems like I should be taking care of you instead,” he responds bravely, his eyes flitting from Bucky’s eyes, to his lips, and back again. “I’m sure it gets lonely here all by yourself.”

 

With that, he watches Bucky’s chest rise with a surprised breath, and Steve places the mug at his feet to rest his hand lightly over Bucky’s heart. He gathers his legs under him and closes the gap between them.

 

Bucky’s eyes drift down Steve’s body, and his hands fit themselves on his slim hips, pushing away the quilt. He lifts Steve effortlessly into his lap. Steve’s knees slot alongside the man’s thighs and he settles his large hands around Bucky’s neck, fingers brushing the pulse point he finds there. He wonders how it would taste under his tongue.

 

“I’d be happy to be taken care of by you.” Bucky’s voice vibrates him to his core, deep and rumbling over his skin. Steve hurries forward, pressing his lips gently to the sweet fruit of Bucky’s mouth. The kiss is chaste, and Bucky waits for Steve to press two, then three kisses to his lips before he chases one more. His wet tongue softly asks for entrance in Steve’s mouth, a light lick to the seam of his lips. Steve complies, his hands snaking into Bucky’s hair as he draws him closer. He finds the long, dark locks are so easy to get lost in, to curl his fingers in and hang on. Bucky presses an easy hand to his lower back, and Steve can feel his hip bones press against Bucky’s. His breath catches in his throat, and he coughs.

 

Bucky pulls him back, crease between his brows, and rubs a reverent hand up the other man’s back. “Alright?”

 

Impatient, Steve nods, leaning forward again and hungry for more kisses. Bucky stops him with a hand on his chest. “Shh, slow down. Ain’t in no rush,” Bucky whispers, his hands sliding down Steve’s hips to rest lightly on his thighs. His palms are so broad he can wrap his fingers around the widest part of Steve’s thighs easily.

 

He bows his head, as if he’s in prayer, and presses those firm lips to the exposed skin of Steve’s neck. He brings a hand up and places his thumb over the second button on Steve’s shirt, pressing his nose against Steve’s throat. He pauses, but says nothing, waiting for Steve to answer the silent question. Words fail him, so he gives a shaky nod.

 

Despite his thick fingers, Bucky frees the rest of Steve’s buttons with ease, sliding the thin material off the blonde’s angular shoulders. Unconsciously, Steve shivers, and Bucky curls an arm around his back, drawing him nearer still until his abdomen and chest are flush against Bucky’s.

 

“Alright?” Bucky asks again, impossibly softer. His eyes are still grey, roaming lazily up and down Steve’s exposed skin. “You’re chilly.” He runs his free hand over Steve’s shoulder and arm, warmth following his fingers. Steve feels raw and exposed underneath the man’s gaze; he wants Bucky’s attention, but feels a blush rising under Bucky’s scrutiny of his malnourished body.

 

Steve squirms, biting back a gasp as the friction makes his hardening member zing with sensation. Bucky starts petting him, running warm hands over his back, his chest, his hips and his hair. He lets his palm follow the dark red blush staining Steve’s pale chest, his hand slipping lightly over the smaller man’s stomach. He strokes the soft skin of Steve’s lower abdomen, and Steve can’t look away now, not when Bucky is touching him so sweetly and intently.

 

Bucky grants him one chaste kiss at a time, pulling back to stare at Steve, like he’s trying to figure out how he works. He keeps up the ministrations, stroking his naked skin and pressing his lips against Steve’s again and again, until finally Steve can’t keep from squirming in Bucky’s lap, his hips searching for roughness and heat against Bucky’s own denim-clad hardness.

 

Bucky pushes him more firmly into his lap with the hand on his lower back. Steve tucks his face into the join of the man’s neck and shoulder. The muscle is thick under his lips, and he relishes the firm give of skin beneath his own. He even lets himself nibble Bucky there, just for a moment. It’s nothing, only the scratch of teeth against Bucky’s tan skin, but a noise rumbles from beneath him.

 

“I gotcha, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs in his ear, turning his head to place wet kisses against his cheek. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

 

Damn right, it does. Bucky’s hands are urgent, encouraging him to rut against his lap. He’s overwhelmed by the feeling; the roughness and heat making him throb beneath the thin cloth of his threadbare pants and undergarments.

 

He feels the hand disappear, and then return with two warm, wet fingers against his skin. He stills as they slide into the cleft of his ass, just under his waistband. Bucky slides his free hand up to rest against Steve’s ribs, holding him steady.

 

“You’re okay,” he rasps, stilling his ministrations. Steve feels tears burn in his eyes as he realizes Bucky is waiting for his approval before he touches him any further. He presses his face harder into Bucky’s shoulder, hips bucking further into the heat between Bucky’s legs.

 

“I won’t hurt you, doll. I promise. I’ll make you feel real good, okay?” Bucky’s touch slides down lower, gently stroking him with a crook of his digit. Steve jerks forward at the intrusion, and an involuntary whine worms its way between his lips. He wants to melt against Bucky’s skin, and his face is so hot that he just might do it.

 

But Bucky continues stroking, the feeling like nothing Steve’s ever experienced before. He feels wrapped tight, pressure all around him. The ministrations don’t stop, but Bucky’s pulling off his cotton t-shirt with one hand and then pressing Steve back against his skin. Steve nestles his face in the dark curls on Bucky’s chest, sucking kisses over his collarbones and pressing his nose into Bucky’s neck.

 

His mouth is at Steve’s ear again. “Don’t you want to take yourself out for me? Feel my skin against yours?” Steve feels Bucky’s hand slip between them, unbuttoning his own jeans and pushing his underwear aside. He pulls himself out from between the folds of cloth, his member jutting out heavy and thick. The sensitive head brushes Steve’s bare skin and Bucky’s breath hisses out of him.

 

He rests his hand on the button of Steve’s pants between them and finds his eyes. Steve looks up at him from beneath his lashes, and Bucky cups his jaw, kissing him long and deep. When they break apart, Steve chases him with a whine and thrusts his hips up into Bucky’s palm.

 

With the other hand, Bucky still strokes him, the wet tip of his finger dipping into his hole. It rocks him forward and back, delicious pleasure trapping him on all sides.

 

The crawling itch starts low in his gut, right where Bucky’s member is slicking his skin with precum. It’s like an out of body experience, and Steve, unbidden, can’t get close enough to Bucky. He’s wrapped tight in Bucky’s arms, but he needs _more,_ he has to get _closer._ He feels that if he could climb right into Bucky’s skin he would.

 

Bucky works a hand between them, slotting his member against Steve’s own, and the velvety smooth slide of hot skin against him is enough to have him panting and laving at Bucky’s neck. His hands touch every inch of Bucky’s skin, nails scratching at his thick forearms, fingers pulling at his hair, knees clenching Bucky’s thighs between them like a vice.

 

“I can’t...I can’t…” he pants, whining and writhing in Bucky’s lap.

 

“You can’t what, Stevie?”

 

“I can’t stand it! Please...please, Bucky, please!”

“You’re so sweet for me,” he murmurs, lips working against Steve’s shoulder. “Ask so nice for me. You want more?” His teeth scrape Steve’s skin in rhythm with his curling finger and responding thrusts of his hips. “You want to let go?”

 

Steve’s moaning now, foreign sounds escaping his throat. He’s begging, pleading with Bucky; he’d do anything for more touch, more attention, more sensation. He feels like he’s been here, a shivering mess in Bucky’s lap, for hours, but it’s probably only been minutes.  

 

Then it happens, that probing pressure pushing Steve forward, and Buck slips a finger into him, sliding achingly slow: in and out. Then he realizes that’s what he’s been begging for, not to cum, not for more stimulation, but for the fullness he feels now. It’s enough to send him over the edge, as Bucky curls his fingers around their throbbing members and jerks Steve to his release.

 

He doesn’t stop rutting against the man, his cock pumping slick between them again and again. Bucky cups four fingers around Steve’s ass and presses their bodies impossibly closer, his heavy hips moving faster and faster until he follows Steve’s lead and warm liquid pools between them.

 

They collapse against each other, and Steve tries to ignore the wheeze that rattles through his lungs. His mouth is dry from panting through his orgasm and Bucky’s slow, sweet touches. They stay there until Bucky pulls his hands from around Steve, gently nudging his jaw with his nose.

 

Steve’s eyelids are heavy again, but he finds Bucky’s eyes. His eyebrows raised just slightly, searching Steve’s face with uncertainty.

 

“Pretty rough punishment,” Steve grunts out, letting his cheek flop against the man’s shoulder. Bucky rumbles out a laugh beneath him.

 

“We made a mess,” Steve comments, unable to move.

 

Bucky smoothes a hand over his back after wiping the slick on his jeans. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” He asks, lips in Steve’s hair. Bucky presses an almost imperceptible kiss there.

 

Steve winds his arms around Bucky’s neck. “Don’t wanna move. Tired.”

 

Bucky shifts and then he’s rising to his feet, holding Steve in his arms as if he weighs nothing.

 

“C’mon, Steve. Wash up for me and I’ll get some stew in you. I know it’s rough prison conditions, but you’ll have to make do.”

 

Steve turns to press a kiss to Bucky’s rough jaw. “Ain’t no rest for the wicked, I guess.”

 

He just squeezes Bucky’s shoulders as the man barks out a laugh.


End file.
